


In want of something

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fwiendship, Gen, Hugs, Touch-Starved, feat. thancred being a shit, feelies, he's not the brightest but he's trying ok, mild homophobia, seaweed - Freeform, specific warrrior of light, thancred: master manipulator, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 08:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13360974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: The Warrior of Light is a bit touchy-feely. People usually don't complain, so... he must be doing something wrong this time, right?(reading of other works in series not required, although always recommended! ^^)





	In want of something

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a bit lighter so read if u need a hug c:

It was a long trek from Gyr Abania to Mor Dhona.

If Thancred had ever been in doubt of this, he wasn’t anymore. _I’ll walk_ , he’d said. _I’ll enjoy nature_ , he’d said. _I don’t need a chocobo_ , he’d said. _No, really—they smell,_ he’d said. And so he’d set off, purple mountains and his pet nutkin on the mind.

Now he was trudging through a swamp.

“Guh,” he muttered to himself.

“ _Rarrrghhhhhh,”_ the voidsent screamed in response.

Thancred immediately whirled around, daggers out, and got clawed across the stomach for his troubles. The blow knocked him to the ground, and then the voidsent was upon him, hissing angrily, vile filth spewing forth from its mouth. It reared back, ready to slice at him again, and Thancred tried to get up but his foot was caught on something—damn this swamp—he couldn’t get free no matter how hard he tugged—

“Thancred!” yelled a familiar voice, and then a dark shape threw itself in front of him, standing firm. Thancred quickly cut himself loose and scrambled back, staring at sharp black armour, a sharp black sword, sharp black hair and… a brown-tipped tail.

Fire erupted in front of them, and Thancred shielded his eyes. When he looked once more, the voidsent had become a pile of ash.

Thancred looked up. “What are _you_ doing here?” he asked. “And what is that _hideously_ clunky weapon you’re carrying?”

Ikael turned around and grinned at him. Whatever blow he had intercepted seemed to have had little to no effect on him, strangely enough. Thancred had seen him in armour like this once before, but he hadn’t given it much thought at the time. Still, as far as he was comfortable with, this would not do. Ikael should be about as fleshy and vulnerable as _he_ was.

“It’s a sword,” Ikael said, planting the atrocity in the ground and crossing his hands over the pommel. He was still grinning. “You know, sometimes people who don’t want to get diced to bits from a single attack use them? And to answer your first question, I was in the area.”

He offered a hand, which Thancred gladly accepted, and hauled him up. Thancred felt blood pulse out of his wound and winced, steadying himself on Ikael’s forearm.

Thancred could see the moment Ikael realized he was injured. His eyes widened, his face fell—ah, he was still a bleeding heart, then. Good.

“You’re hurt!” Ikael exclaimed unnecessarily, and Thancred started to wave him off. He made it halfway through saying “I’m fi—” before Ikael spun around, still holding onto him, and called, “Colette!”

That was when Thancred noticed the three other people. They were coming closer, now; they must have been standing some ways off. A scowling roegadyn with an axe was glaring at him—Thancred winked—a pretty miqo’te girl seemed to be hiding a staff behind her back, and… oh. The elezen who was stalking towards Ikael and himself must be Colette.

“There is no need to shout,” she said irritably. “I can hear you perfectly fine from over there, cat. What do you want?”

She didn't so much as glance at Thancred. Ikael sighed. The sound was… strangely long-suffering.

“Can you heal him?” he asked. “Please.”

Colette still didn’t look at Thancred. “Heal?” she said primly. She touched a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry; am _I_ important now? Are you deigning to pay me attention? Do you actually need _me_ for something?”

Fresh blood pulsed out of Thancred's abdomen. He smothered a cough.

“Colette,” Ikael said irritably, “Heal him.”

Colette finally looked at Thancred. That was to say, she looked down her nose at him. “That vagabond?” she said with disdain. She paused, seeming to relish in the way Ikael gritted his teeth.

Then she said, “Hm. No.”

“Your friends are—ah—lovely,” Thancred told Ikael. “Especially the pretty one not glaring at me.” He gave the miqo’te a smile, and she looked surprised for a second, then returned it.

“Uh, Thancred,” Ikael said, wincing, “Don’t—”

“Hands _off_ , you snake-tongued skirt-chaser,” Colette hissed, and thumped her cane on the ground. _Whoops._ “I swear, you men are all the same—you just think with your prick, not with—”

“Colette,” called the miqo’te in a small voice, “Just heal him. Please. Then we can leave.”

Colette glared at Thancred, and he smiled his most platonic, non-flirtatious smile back. He didn’t say, _If I had a snake tongue I’d think with my mouth, not my prick_ , because he was, in fact, in some pain, and he did not, in fact, wish to get hit with a cane. And while he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, he wouldn’t say no to a heal if it was offered.  

“Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing with your mouth,” Ikael muttered to him. “It’s unnerving.”

Thancred rolled his eyes and dropped the smile. Colette stared at him for a full minute, then made a growling sort of noise, and held up her weapon.

Thancred felt the strange sensation of his skin knitting back together magically, and he bowed. Then—stumbled.

Ikael caught him, frowning. Colette sniffed and said, “There. He won’t _die_.”

“Thank you, my dear lady,” Thancred said. “You are most generous. And might I say, speaking purely aesthetic— _gh_ —”

Ikael had wrapped his arms around him, and now held him in a bone-crushing embrace. Thancred let out an undignified squawk, then chuckled and relaxed, patting Ikael on the head. It had been a while since they had last seen each other, after all. And Thancred had… missed the hugs a bit, although he’d never admit that out loud. Definitely not to Ikael.

“Alright, alright,” Thancred said after it had started out drag out for bit too long, “You can let me go now. Although I will say, it is nice to be appreciated.”

Ikael pulled back reluctantly, and kept his hand on Thancred's shoulder. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to keep hugging Thancred for the rest of eternity, and while that was… well. While that was _something_ , Thancred had places to go.

“You done being all touchy-feely?” the roegadyn grumbled, and a strange look passed over Ikael’s face. It was gone in an instant, and then he was pulling away. His fingers briefly brushed over Thancred's collar before breaking contact.

“Just greeting an old friend, Svaldthal,” Ikael said. He turned to the other two. “This is Thancred.”

“Perfect. I do not care. M’ara and I are leaving,” said Colette, “As per our agreement. In fact, I healed your vagrant friend, so I do believe I have _surpassed_ our agreement.” She cleared her throat, and turned with a snap of her heel and a flourish of her cloak.

Ikael lightly punched Thancred in the stomach. Thancred grunted.

“He’s still in pain,” said Ikael, who was wearing metal gauntlets that were definitely not soft.

Colette said, “Not my problem.” She was still walking away.

“Ikael, I—” the miqo’te—M’ara—stepped forward. She smiled up at Ikael nervously, biting her lip.

“Thank you for helping us,” she said shyly, and—was that a blush? “You’re… you’re very kind, and smart—” _That_ was wasn’t true. “—and… I promise that whenever I make that sweetbread recipe you gave me I’ll think of you!”

Ikael smiled at her. Thancred looked on, utterly amused; he was beginning to understand Colette’s behaviour now.

“Make it for yourself and Colette, alright?” Ikael said gently—bless his heart. “Isn’t your anniversary coming up soon?”

“I…” M’ara glanced back at Colette. “… Yes,” she said quietly.

“Perfect opportunity, then!” Ikael beamed. “I’ll be seeing you, M’ara, all right? Don’t be afraid to contact me by linkpearl if you need me! It was a pleasure meeting you—Colette is very lucky.”

M’ara sighed, starting to leave, and then paused to look at Thancred's chin.

“I-I’m sorry about the voidsent,” she squeaked so quickly he had trouble hearing her. “Side effect, aha.”

Then she’d run off. Thancred stared after her, nonplussed.

Ikael sighed. “Poor girl,” he muttered.

“We leaving?” grunted Svaldthal, who had been silent this entire time. Ikael jumped a little.

“Yes,” he said. “Thancred, we’re for Mor Dhona— Svaldthal wanted to visit. Where are you heading? You can… I can escort you there, if it’s on the way?” He looked hopeful.

“You are in luck,” Thancred said, carefully storing the past five minutes in his head for later blackmail material, “I’m to the Rising Stones myself. You won’t have to be deprived of my excellent company for a while yet.”

“Perfect,” grumbled Svaldthal, but Ikael was looking at Thancred as if he had just offered him the sun.

“Oh, good,” he breathed, and the joyous, grateful tone of his voice should have been Thancred's first clue. “I’ve missed you.”

~*~

Ikael wondered if Thancred was hungry. If he’d eaten anything recently. How was he feeling? Did his stomach hurt? Did he seem physically healthy? Mentally? Ikael would be glad to offer him a hug if he wanted one. Had he been getting enough exercise? He looked lean. Had he been getting enough to _eat_? Had he—

“Ikael.” Thancred waved a hand in front of his face, looking amused. “Oi.”

Thancred was smiling at him. Ikael smiled back, feeling warm. He was so happy Thancred was here. He’d missed… well. He’d missed him. Of course. Thancred was his friend—it was normal to miss your friends, right? Yes, he…

“Do you, uh,” Ikael said, trying not so sound too hopeful, “Do you want a hug?”

Thancred squinted at him. “… Not particularly,” he said slowly. “Have… you been hit on the head?”

Oh.

“No! No. That’s fine. I mean—um, sorry. I’ll, uh… I’ll get dinner, yeah? We should eat?”

“The one with the little knives can handle hunting,” Svaldthal called, dropping a pile of firewood to the ground. Ikael gave a start. “’kael, you’re cooking, right?”

“Of course!” Ikael said, hiding a wince. Svaldthal grunted and set to work on lighting the fire.

They had managed to make it to the border of the swamp today. Thancred, while still not walking perfectly straight, had not slowed them down, and now, while they made camp for the night, while crickets chirped their indignance into the burgeoning darkness, while nature settled down and sang itself to sleep, _now_ Ikael could finally pester him about his wound.

He turned to Thancred to do just that, but—Thancred was frowning at him. Oh _no._

“Ikael,” Thancred said, pulling him aside, “Have you been cooking for them this entire time?”

Ikael stared at him. What kind of a question was that? “Of course,” he said.

Thancred asked, “And hunting?”

Ikael nodded. “I was helping them out.”

“Maybe you should… take a bit of a break,” Thancred suggested. “I’m sure Svaldthal can—”

“Do you want to cook?” Ikael asked, squinting at him.

Thancred opened his mouth. He closed it. “Er,” he said.

Ikael smiled. “I’ll give you the bigger portion,” he offered, “Since you’re my favourite. Will that make you happy?”

Thancred looked at him oddly. Ikael smiled a bit more, ignoring the dread clawing at his chest. He folded his ears down. Perhaps Thancred would give him a hug if Ikael did what he wanted?

Thancred said, “You just… stay here, alright? I’ll go…” He glanced around them. “… fishing, I suppose.”

Ikael hadn’t brought his fishing rod. He couldn’t _help_ —

Thancred clapped him on the shoulder before walking off, and Ikael relaxed minutely. Right; it didn't matter too much. Thancred had his knives—he could probably manage to catch a few fish without much difficulty.

Ikael started to look through his pack for spices. Perhaps Thancred would give him a hug if the food was good enough.

~*~

Seaweed. Thancred spit some out. _Swivving_ seaweed. Why was there seaweed in a swamp, anyways? Who had decided that? Thaliak? Ugh.

Thancred's boot made a squelching sound, and he scowled at it, clutching the fish he had knifed to his chest. He didn’t need a _reminder_ of his recent impromptu bath, thank you very much. He shivered. _Seaweed._

His other boot squelched.

When he got back to camp, Svaldthal laughed at him. Thancred scowled and squelched past him, heading to the firepit, which was thankfully up, large and spitting burning embers. Count on a sea wolf to chop up an excessive amount of wood.

He heard Ikael cry, “Thancred!” and then Ikael was kneeling next to him, sans armour, his worried face filling Thancred's vision. Thancred carefully laid the fish down on what looked to be a frying pan—who carried _frying pans_ around? —before preparing himself for the anxious frenzy coming his way.

“Oh no—you’re soaked!” Ikael was saying, hovering around him. “Here—stay close to the fire, okay? I wish I’d learned some thaumaturgy; I could have warmed you up easily.”

“Give the man some space,” Svaldthal said, sounding annoyed, and Ikael obediently backed up a fulm, twisting his hands together. He started to gnaw on his lower lip.

“It’s alright,” Thancred said, frowning slightly. “And I am fine, Ikael. I’ll dry up soon enough.” Even as he said the words, he suppressed an inconvenient shiver.

“Then I need to see to your wound,” Ikael said, gaze bright with concern. “I don’t think Colette was very thorough.”

Thancred sighed. Ikael had been giving him the impression of a wind-up mammet running low on energy, and he really didn’t want to heap anything more onto him. Honestly, the cut on his stomach didn’t hurt too much—Colette had done a good enough job to prevent any internal bleeding and seal up the wound. It was a bit sore, and that was all. But…

Ikael was staring at him with impossibly wide eyes. How were his eyes so big? Was that normal for miqo’te?

Ikael pouted. “ _Please_ ,” he said.

His brows started to draw together.

Thancred sighed. “Fine,” he acquiesced, because he was a weak, weak man. Ikael lit up, and Thancred smiled despite himself. He could admit, if pushed, that it was nice to be fussed over somewhat. As long as it was mutual fussing over, at least. He would have to figure out what had Ikael so jumpy—sooner rather than later.

First, Thancred should probably undress—he’d dry faster. His clothes were sticking to him, and he had to try a few times to tug his shirt off. Ikael winked at him when he was topless, and Thancred huffed out a chuckle, shucking his trousers.

“I’ll put these to dry. Go lie on your bedroll,” Ikael ordered, taking his clothes. “Ha—my younger self would have _killed_ to be in my position right now.”

Thancred had most definitely not forgotten about Ikael’s faded crush. He intended to bring it up at the most inopportune time possible, of course.

“I feel objectified,” he said as he lowered himself to the bedroll. “In the _best_ way, of course.”

“Serves you right,” Ikael returned, grinning. “You… what was it? ‘Snake-tongued skirt-chaser?’”

“Are you saying you’d put on a skirt for me, Ikael?”

“Hm.” Ikael tapped his chin, making his way over. “Not really my style, but for _you_ , I’d consider it.”

“Hurry up and get dinner ready,” Svaldthal interrupted. Thancred watched as Ikael’s tail dipped down between his legs.

Thancred very purposefully winced, and Ikael’s attention shifted to him like magic. It was almost comical, really, and Thancred only felt a _little_ bit bad when Ikael scrambled over to him. Thancred didn’t want to make him even more worried, but he was healing fairly well—there wasn’t anything Ikael needed to do for him—and it was worth it for Svaldthal’s sigh of annoyance.

“Okay, let me see,” Ikael said, and Thancred obediently let himself be poked at.

Seven pointless minutes later, during which Thancred had made a small noise of pain every time Svaldthal had opened his mouth, Ikael deemed Thancred to be well on the mend.

“I’ll get you some of my extra clothes,” he said, scurrying about. “They might be a bit small, but it’s better than nothing. You’ve been _shivering_ —you’ll catch cold!”

“Really, you’re far too generous, my friend,” Thancred returned smoothly, “Looking after me like you are. At least allow me to help you make dinner so I can return your kindness.”

Ikael paused, threw a shirt at him, and seemed to think.

“I would feel terrible if I were an imposition,” Thancred wheedled. “You know I hate that feeling. I would be very grateful if you allowed me to help.”

The word “grateful” seemed to be the key, because Ikael gradually started nodding.

“Right, right,” he said. “Anything to make you feel better. Sure, you can help!” he chirped. “I’ll fry the fish—can you season them?”

Thancred had no idea how to season fish. “Of course,” he said, and Ikael smiled at him before heading to the firepit to do what he did best. Well. Second-best.

“About fuckin’ time,” Svaldthal said loud enough to be heard, and Thancred crossed his arms.

“I don’t suppose _you_ could help?” he asked, making sure his voice had an edge of sarcasm that even Ikael would have detected. He hadn’t failed to notice the dark looks Svaldthal had been sending their way all day, and it was beginning to get irritating. “What have you been doing this whole time, anyhow?”

“Not acting like a nursemaid,” Svaldthal replied, scowling at him.

Thancred scowled back. “Ikael’s nursemaid-like traits are his best,” he said, and went to help his fretful friend with the fish.

~*~

“Um,” said Ikael when they had all mostly eaten and he was poking at the last fish in his frying pan, “I wanted to ask you for something.”

Thancred was sitting right next to him, _nearly_ touching him, but not quite—and he hadn’t so much as clapped Ikael on the shoulder since earlier. Svaldthal was… Svaldthal was sitting as far away from them as possible. Ikael couldn’t see him; his back was turned.

Thancred looked at him and smiled. His skin was a warm orange-brown from the light of the fire; they were sitting fairly close to it.

“Whatever you need,” Thancred said. His tone was almost teasing.

“Not _whatever_ I need,” Ikael grumbled. The fish made a strange noise and he tutted at it, moving the pan away from the fire. The last of their food was officially burnt and useless now—he hoped no one was still hungry. He put the pan down hastily, picking the fish out.

“ _Whatever_ you need,” Thancred repeated, spreading his hands. “I am at your service, my dear man.”

That wasn’t very fair, was it? Ikael hadn’t done anything to warrant that.

“This is not a one-sided relationship,” Ikael said, slapping Thancred's arm with the fish. “It has to be _even_. If you do this for me I have to… make you breakfast for a month, or something.”

“Did you just hit me with a _fish_?” Thancred said incredulously.

Ikael hit him again, to make a point. “Even,” he repeated. The fish left a wet spot on Thancred's sleeve.

Thancred was staring at him like he had grown an extra head. “… Alright,” he agreed anyways, “Even. But _I_ get to chose what you do in return.”

Ikael could accept that. He nodded.

“I, uh—” His words caught in his throat. He shot Svaldthal a quick glance, suddenly nervous.

Thancred touched his arm, and Ikael looked at him, feeling the contact spread through him like soft water. He wanted to chase Thancred's hand when it withdrew, more than anything—but Svaldthal—

“Ikael,” Thancred said, “Ignore him. What is it?”

“I…” Ikael swallowed. “I mean, I know it’s not… and Svaldthal doesn’t… he doesn’t like it—”

“He can manage,” Thancred said firmly. “What do you need, hm?”

He shifted closer to Ikael, which—was nice. Ikael wanted—

“Can I… can I have a hug?” he said in a small voice, looking at Thancred's knee.

Thancred made a strangely wounded noise, and Ikael looked up in alarm, then let out a muffled squeak when he was suddenly enveloped in warmth that smelled like steel, and flames, and confidence.

“Of _course,_ ” Thancred said above Ikael’s head. “Hugs are _free_ , you poor, sad little eikon-slayer. Gods, the sentiment you drag out of me… Y’shtola would be laughing if she could see me now.”

Ikael tried to pull back at that, but Thancred wouldn’t let him, only tugging him closer.

“‘Can I have a hug,’” Thancred muttered to himself. “Ridiculous. I thought you were going to ask me to buy you a new frying pan or something.”

What? Was his frying pan—

“It’s fine,” Thancred said quickly. “Uh… you might have put it down in the fire. I’ll get you a new one.”

Ikael burrowed his head into Thancred's shoulder, closing his eyes… then snapped them open. Svaldthal—

“I do hope whatever just made you just tense up is less important than me,” Thancred intoned. “Because otherwise, I might be offended.”

Alright. _Fine_. Ikael smiled to himself. He could ignore Svaldthal for—

“You’re more of a kitten than a coeurl, aren’t you?” Svaldthal’s booming voice was filled with scorn. “Seven hells, it’s a miracle you can protect anything bigger than yourself.”

Ikael pushed Thancred away immediately, shame churning in his gut. Right; he was being pathetic again. Who asked for hugs, anyways? Thancred never asked for hugs. Did Y’shtola? _Definitely_ not. And she was miqo’te too—so it wasn’t a _racial_ quirk.

Ergo, it must be Ikael.

He felt lonely without the contact, because Thancred was warm and friendly, but…. He shuffled away, going to prepare his bedroll. It was warm too.

“Wait just one second.” That was Thancred, right behind him—Ikael jumped. He hadn’t heard him follow.

Thancred settled down next to him. Ikael’s shirt was a bit tight on him, and the trousers were a bit short, and Thancred had wrung out his bandana but stubbornly retied it, so it was _entirely_ possible he could still catch cold—was that how colds worked? Did his head need to be warm?

“Does your head need to be warm?” Ikael asked anxiously.

Thancred scrunched his face at Ikael. “We really need to get you looked at by a healer,” he muttered. Then something in the set of his mouth—shifted.

“Actually,” he said, sounding as if he had just had an enlightening realization, “My head _is_ feeling a bit cold. You like touching people, don’t you?”

Ikael did. He nodded.

“I can respect boundaries,” he told Thancred, because it was true.

Thancred waved his hand dismissively. “I doubt there are any between us at this point,” he said airily. He moved closer to Ikael, tugged at him a for second, and then he… _laid down_. In Ikael’s _lap._ How _precious_.

Ikael cooed at him, and Thancred immediately pinched him. “No stupid noises,” he said, “But my hair is a mess.”

It _was_. Ikael hadn’t brought a comb—gods, he really had been unprepared for this excursion. Nevertheless, he could use his fingers, and he did. It was a calming motion, carefully untangling the ends of the hair and working his way up. He… he had used to do it with his mother, actually, and the sensation was… soothing

He undid Thancred's braid, briefly considered chopping it off, decided he wanted to keep his fingers, and moved on. Thancred's hair was drying roughly and smelled a bit like swamp, but Ikael didn’t mind. The proximity and contact were comforting.

“Ikael,” Thancred said eventually, “I’ve decided how you can repay me for the hug.”

“Mmhm?” Ikael tugged at the ties of Thancred's bandana questioningly, and when Thancred nodded, carefully took it off. The fabric was going to mold—he needed to get Thancred a new one.

“If someone puts you down,” Thancred said into his leg, “Stand up for yourself.”

“What am I, a child?” Ikael asked, amused.

“Svaldthal,” said Thancred.

Ikael stopped.

Thancred grunted at him, and Ikael resumed his motions. “Svaldthal is—” He glanced up. Svaldthal wasn’t looking at them; Ikael relaxed. “—Not incorrect,” he finished.

“He’s completely incorrect,” Thancred replied. “If someone was behaving to… Alisaie, say, like Svaldthal is behaving towards you, what would you do?”

What? That was different. “That’s not the same,” Ikael said, surprised.

“Maybe not,” Thancred said. “But—ow.”

“Sorry.”

“But still; I cannot fight all your battles for you, my friend. I would like to, but apparently that’s,” he held up a hand to make quotation marks, “‘An unhealthy way of projecting my own insecurities and self-flagellation onto you,’ or something. I do not know. Krile told me that once. The point is, you have to look at yourself the way you look at the people you want to protect. Or at least not think ill of yourself.”

Ikael wasn’t sure. “I’ll think about it,” he said, because he _did_ owe Thancred a favour. “Now shut up and let me work—you have seaweed in your hair.”

Thancred muttered something indecipherable, but then went silent.

Ikael finished with unknotting Thancred’s hair, and started running his fingers through the strands in a gentle motion. No one had done this for Ikael in—a long time, and even not being the one lying down and grumbling ever time a lock got caught brought back feelings of nostalgia. He wondered if Thancred was doing this for him, or if it really did feel as nice as he remembered. Hm. Could hyurs purr?

“Can you purr?” Ikael asked Thancred, who raised his head to give Ikael a look that implied he was an idiot before settling back down again.

Probably not, then.

Still, he scratched behind Thancred's ears just in case.

~*~

Svaldthal had started to glare at them some five minutes ago. Thancred had briefly considered sticking his tongue out at him, but had ultimately decided it would have been in bad sport. Still, he had a feeling Svaldthal would decide to say something to them eventually—and sooner rather than later.

Ikael (who had started scratching him for some reason) was looking down at him with a soft smile, and apparently hadn’t notice Svaldthal’s angry gaze. Thancred was glad for that for the moment, but… well.

Ikael would never willingly start a confrontation, but he was made of surprisingly stern stuff—Thancred had faith in him. He sent Ikael an internal apology, then straightened up and wrapped his arms around him.

“Just hug me back,” he murmured to Ikael, bending his head, and Ikael complied immediately.

“Oh—are you feeling okay?” Ikael asked. The gentleness and concern in his voice made Thancred's heart dip in guilt, but he only squeezed tighter.

“Hold on,” he said to Ikael, “Alright? And remember that if you ever need this, you need only to ask. Forget Svaldthal, forget _anyone_ else—you have to put yourself first sometimes. Do not let them shame you.”

“I…” Ikael drew back. He looked extremely unwilling to do so. _Then don’t_ , Thancred wanted to tell him. _If you need something when it is offered,_ take _it._

“Alright, that’s enough of this shit.”

Thancred looked up at Svaldthal calmly. He had noticed him approach. Ikael, who had gone completely still… hadn’t.

“’kael,” Svaldthal ordered, “Enough touchy time. You two are worse than M’ara and Colette, and even if you _are_ fucking, you’re men, aren’t you? Act like it.”

Ikael looked at Thancred. Thancred looked back. Ikael closed his eyes, then slowly crawled next to him and turned around.

“It’s, ah, _I_ kael,” he said, and his smile stretched, false, across his face. Thancred grinned inwardly.

Svaldthal raised an eyebrow. “Sure thing, ’kael,” he said, and laughed. Ikael’s smile tightened.

“Really,” he said into the short silence that followed. “Two syllables. It’s not that hard.”

Svaldthal squinted at him. “Has the kitten grown a backbone?” he mocked. “Fat lot of good it’ll do you. I ain’t about to take you seriously, ’ _kael_ , just because you’ve decided you don’t need to be disgusting right this second.”

“Disgusting?” Ikael said. “Thancred gave me a _hug_. That was _it._ ” His voice faltered, and Thancred patted him encouragingly on the back before he could lose steam. It was adorable watching them grow up.

“He gave you a hug, and earlier he gave you another hug, and before that _another_. How many hugs does one man fuckin’ need? You need to grow a godsdamned pair and learn to handle things, kid.”

“Whatever I’m doing is not affecting _you_ ,” Ikael said. “And I know how to ‘handle’ things, Svaldthal. I’ve ‘handled’ a lot, believe me.”

This was true.

Svaldthal’s face twisted into something ugly. “Look,” he said, voice low, “You’re too fucking _soft_. Just accept it and shut up. You can’t skip through life like a fuckin’ child, hoping someone will give you a kiss on the cheek and a hug ever time you get a bit lonely. It’s a disgrace, watching you. A disgrace to your profession, a disgrace to your _gender_.” Ikael stiffened. “Makes me wanna fuckin’ throw up. So _stop_.”

Thancred raised an eyebrow. “If the concept of simple affection is so foreign to you,” he said, deciding to finally speak up, “Ikael here is a marvelous teacher. _Our_ interactions, of course, began with open-mouthed kissing, but you’d probably want to start with something more… novice.”

Svaldthal gaped at him, and Ikael groaned.

“ _Thancred_ ,” he hissed, glaring at him, and Thancred shrugged. He was only here to provide hugs and smart commentary, after all.

“Svaldthal,” Ikael said firmly, apparently having finally found his voice, “I am sorry if I am making you uncomfortable for any personal reasons. And if that is the case, then I will stop.”

“Ain’t impersonal if you decide to act like—"

“But,” Ikael interrupted, voice hardening, “If your problem truly likes with my _gender_ , or some inane concept of _manliness_ , then I’ll have to tell you to kindly fuck off. I have no patience for people who think that way—I have dealt with that _enough_ ,” He made a cutting motion, “in my lifetime. I can act however I wish to. If I were not a man, I would act the same. It doesn’t change anything about me, and no one is a _disgrace_ to _anything_ for wanting something as simple and natural as affection. If you are coming at me, you are coming at everyone else who is like me, and I will not have that. So: fuck _off_.”

Thancred sighed. Of course Ikael would only defend _himself_ if he was simultaneously defending an entire group of people. _Ah well_ , he thought as Svaldthal stared. _Small steps_.

“Is this where I threaten to poison your food?” Thancred wondered idly. It was time for the grand finale. “Stab you? Tell your entire family that your deepest, darkest secret is a desire for a littwe _huggie-wuggie?”_

Svaldthal’s face contorted, and he stepped forward threateningly. “ _You little fuckin_ —”

“You leave _him_ alone,” Ikael said, rising to his feet in one swift movement, and voice was _beautifully_ dangerous. Svaldthal froze. Thancred grinned. “And you know what, Svaldthal? Mor Dhona is that way.” He pointed. “We are going to _stop_ having this conversation now, and I am going to get some fucking _sleep_ , and if you are not gone by morning, we will have a _problem_. _Do you understand me?_ ”

Thancred didn’t know whether Ikael had noticed the black mist slowly wrapping its way around his body, nor the aether pulsing anger at Svaldthal with his every word—detectable even to _Thancred_ —but his words rang with a solid finality that dared to be challenged, and Thancred did not think Svaldthal was going to try.

Svaldthal nodded, looking more than a little nervous, and even when Thancred waggled his eyebrows at him teasingly, he didn’t say anything. _Perfect._

Thancred sprang up and pecked Ikael on the cheek. “I love it when you get all protective over me, dear,” he said.

Ikael snorted. Svaldthal looked as if the sound would chase him in his nightmares for years to come.

~*~

True to his nod, Svaldthal was gone when Ikael woke up. Ikael felt a bit guilty for yelling at him the way he had the night before, but… well. If anything, Thancred seemed oddly proud.

They made their way to Mor Dhona slowly, both sharing some unspoken agreement that they would not risk running into Svaldthal. As it was, they didn’t, and it was a lovely orange evening when Ikael pushed open the door at the end of the Seventh Heaven. He breathed in, taking in a large lungful of dusty and slightly stale air. It smelled like _home_.

“Well, I am going to take a bath,” Thancred said, raking a hand through his hair and making a face. “Hells, I think I still have seaweed in my hair. _Yech_.”

Ikael chuckled at him, waving him away, and headed to his room to unpack. He’d make them dinner—something _without_ fish.

He ended up mashing some potatoes, corn, and beef that he had had to bribe Alys to obtain. Thancred rapped on his door to give him his clothes back, Ikael dragged him in and forced him to eat, and then they had finished, and the stars were twinkling a lullaby at Ikael as he lay in his bed.

Ikael dreamed of burning red eyes, of a voice whispering to him in the dark, of being abandoned at the end of the world.

He woke up.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. He lay there for a moment as he always did, feeling the sweat gluing his skin to the blanket, feeling his heart race in his chest, feeling imaginary fear sharpen his senses. Usually he would lay like that until morning came, only clutching at his covers for comfort.

He rose, and padded over to Thancred's room.

He knocked, softly.

The door opened, and Thancred stood there, a few ilms (three to be exact—Ikael had counted) taller than Ikael, looking down at him with a calm gaze.

He was wearing a thin, short-sleeved sleeping shirt and loose brais, the fabric faded and soft. He looked… peaceful.

“Can I come in?” Ikael asked into the moonlight setting Thancred's hair alight with silver.

Thancred nodded, stepping back, and shut the door quietly behind him.

“What do you need?” he asked Ikael. His voice matched his clothing; soft and comfortable.

“I had a nightmare,” Ikael said. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“No hogging the covers,” was Thancred's response. He climbed into his bed and lifted the sheet.

Ikael smiled.

~*~

Ikael didn’t snore—Thancred already knew this. Yet he had never thought about it before—was it a miqo’te thing, perhaps? Ah, no matter.

Thancred remembered something unexpectedly, and shifted his arm so he could scratch tentatively behind Ikael’s ears. Would he…? Surely not, but…

Ikael burrowed his head into the pillow, apparently not entirely asleep yet. Thancred was about to withdraw his hand, not wanting to disturb him, but then…

 _Oh_ , that was _definitely_ not a sound Thancred was able to create. He grinned. Ikael could _purr_ , _ha._ He wondered if he could use this information to blackmail Y’shtola somehow.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Ikael mumbled.

Thancred chuckled silently, gave Ikael a few extra pats, and then let his consciousness slip away into the night.

~*~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thancred should become a puppeteer for all those strings he's pulling
> 
> The original idea involved modeling Svaldthal's mindset to be that of toxic masculinity, then I realized that all of those guys are also the "no homo" people. Still, I didn't want to make the story specifically about homophobia (for multiple reasons). I still tagged it just in case, but I wanted to clarify that that's not the root of his problem.
> 
> (more ikael and possible hints for next fic on [ tumblr ](http://draw-you-coward.tumblr.com/))


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